Amarante, Tzajal


Amarante is grooming her runner and Tzajal happens to come by and strikes up a brief conversation over shared interests…


It is sunrise of the thirteenth day of the fourth month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Stables, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 21 Jun 2018 04:00





The powerful odor of hot runner lies heavy in the air here. Even the relative open of the stable design, with roomy stalls and lofty arches - incongruously, this must be one of the best designed buildings in the entire Weyr - cannot altogether dispel the stink of beast and the proceeds of such: leather and manure. The stables serve for the Weyr's population of runners, and house a small menagerie of other creatures. Avians, caprines and porcines all have their homes here, and all add to the earthy feel of the place.

Some of the Herders may not be expecting Amarante in the stables at seven in the morning looking like she's been awake for many hours and is quite upbeat about the whole thing, but it's possible that any of the ones who have dealt with it before have provided warnings. That doesn't mean a bleary-eyed apprentice isn't eyeing her warily as she takes over his attempts to groom her prized, possibly-overpriced mare. "It's okay," says the Healer, who still has a small smear of blood on her cheek that probably isn't hers, "I've got it; I want to do it."

It’s true that visitors at this hour are uncommon and unusual, but it’s not like Amarante is aiming for a tryst up in the hayloft or really disrupting the early morning routines. The Apprentice won’t harass her further either, dipping his head but eyeing that smear of blood on her cheek warily. His reason for backing down will be obvious soon enough, as another joins them. Tzajal approaches from behind, cloth in one hand, clasping the other hand on the Apprentices shoulder in a reassuring pat-like gesture. “… go finish up at the mare’s stall. Call me if anything seems awry.” Once the Apprentice is moving off, he’ll resume wiping his hands and arms clean with a cloth. “Morning, Journeyman.” he greets quietly, with a soft and easygoing smile. “She’s a fine animal.” He’s already cast an appraising look to the mare. “Yours?” Obviously, but he’s being polite.

Yes, that is fine; stall mucking was a staple of Amarante's youth growing up at Herder Hall and she's entirely satisfied to not be doing that part herself anymore. But grooming is an opportunity for bonding and attention to be given between runner and owner, and that's not something she wants to miss out on when she has the opportunity to do it. "Yes - this is Hyssop," Amarante starts, and then, "But you probably know her name already. Gift from my father, sometimes I think she deserves better than to be my outriding steed due to her conformation and lineage, but. She seems pretty happy with her lot in life."

“Your father has a good eye for fine breeding, then.” Tzajal is quick to compliment, his mannerisms still quiet and gentle. There’s a low chuckle for her assumption and that smile becomes quirked to a near grin. “I try to remember all the names, but my memory is not that good.” Normally he’d leave the owner alone to bond and finish the ritualistic process of grooming, but that smear on Amarante’s cheek catches his eye. “Oh. Hey,” He offers her the clean end of the cloth he was using, only to hesitate when he realizes it’s not CLEAN clean and seems mildly flustered. Too late! “You’ve got something on your cheek, there…” Smooth. Another pause, because he doesn’t have her name but it awkwardly works towards an introduction. Kind of?

"He's a Master at Herder," Amarante explains by way of why her father both knows what he's doing and has the funding to throw around on fancy runners to work as his daughter's ride to outlying areas for Healer service. That connection also serves to mean that stable-dirty cloths are just fine with her and she accepts it with a bright-eyed smile. "Though he doesn't work with runners, he just knows enough people who do — oh, of course I do, thank you, that figures." Now she has stable by-product on her face instead, but at least it's not human blood.

Tzajal’s expression reads as open surprise to her little revelation. “Is he? What’s his name?” Another beat of silence and then he clears his throat a bit. “… I mean, if you don’t mind me asking that is.” It’s early and judging from the shadows under his eyes, he’s been awake for a long time. “Don’t mention it.” he mutters in return to her thanks. Given that he’d just helped in the birth of a runner foal, she should be thankful that that cloth was the third or fourth he’d gone through. So it’s a bit dusty but at least not grimy.

"Deiranten. He works with livestock, mostly bovines." Amarante has a love of cuddling with calves that will never be cured by things like adulthood. "Of course I don't mind. Why would — oh, no, I suppose some people may have left their families to hide who they are or somesuch, I don't mind a bit." She can sympathize with late hours by far, but she's the opposite as she's only been up and working for about four hours. Once she's exchanged blood spots for stable dust, she returns his cloth with smaller but more appreciative smile. "Things like that happen a lot with debridements and so long as it stays away from my eyes I never do notice." She also has to redirect Hyssop's big head as that snout is starting to root around in her hair.

“Deiranten? Rings a faint bell. Might’ve gone to a few of his classes,” Tzajal can remember lessons and endless facts about his Craft and beast healing but names? Or the names of the Masters he studied under? Nope. “Since I dabbled in a little of everything before settling on runners; tend to work with burdenbeasts and drays too.” Another slight lift of his shoulders in a small shrug, as if this is nothing to brag about. It’s just what he does! Another chuckle of amusement, when Hyssop starts to root around Amarante’s hair and he’ll reach out in an attempt to distract the mare with some affection so that she can finish her work. “Uh huh,” he comments at last with a wry smirk. “Guess debridements are just as unpredictable on humans as they are animals. Anything in the eyes is… unfortunate.” Understatement!

"I wear a shield but you can turn your head the wrong way and — " Amarante is going to stop talking about that, brushing it off to give Hyssop a pat to the neck while continuing the redirecting of her head. "You, ma'am, have too much of a taste for either human sweat or infirmary air." There's … likely … nothing else appealing in her hair except that it's kind of like hay, which sometimes has surprises! "I'm sure your hay's already been changed so you can eat your actual food instead of my head. You probably have met him once or twice but I can understand if you wouldn't know him well," is more of a return to the subject of her father than Hyssop's eating habits.

Tzajal laughs anyways because he gets it, even if his work doesn’t land him with human patients. He’ll observe and listen in relaxed silence while she scolds Hyssop and he gives a firm pat to the mare’s shoulder. “I assure you her hay was changed recently. I’m not in charge here but I do keep an eye on my Apprentices, at least and kind of push at the stable help if I feel I can get away with it.” There’s a grin there that makes it hard to tell if he’s half teasing in that statement or outright serious. “Lots of faces back at the Hall and it’s been awhile since I was there… Been posted here for a few Turns now, but usually my skills are asked upon by the Bazaar families and a few Traders. Just happened to be here and available when a mare here wasn’t doing so well with her birthing…” He speaks freely of his life, so long as it’s about his work and maybe he feels comfortable enough to divulge a little more given Amarante’s background.

Beast patients aren't likely much cleaner, even if they are less picky about sterile technique! And hardier than humans in the case of most infections, but either way, Amarante is completely fine with this line of discussion, and amused at that. "I may like cleaning, but I leave her mucking to the staff — and I've never seen any indication it hasn't been being done daily, so I don't worry too much. You might have known my brothers too, but I doubt … well." She considers him, a full up and down at this point, "Astalen is about twenty seven and does some beasthealing, so maybe you know him? Oh, birthing. We need to do that again sometime, right Hyss?" Hyssop is busy investigating Amarante's grooming kit with her upper lip (but not actually using teeth! she's not breaking rules!) to even respond to the idea of mating.

“Probably for the best,” Tzajal chuckles under his breath. “Don’t want to leave the stablehands without anything to do.” He’s all for shirking certain responsibilities on those perfectly capable of handling it! If they’re available (and they most certainly are). “Astalen? No… I don’t think so?” he sounds almost regretfully apologetic in his tone and he sighs. “But again, I’m not good with names unless I know them well. It’s a fault of mine.” Blinking, he glances to Hyssop again and seems all the more intrigued in the mare. “So you’ve bred her before? Do you know who has her foal?” Uh oh. Never, EVER, mention breeding around him! “I’ve a stallion.” See? “Maybe…” But Tzajal’s eagerness is cut short by the return of that Apprentice. “Sir! The mare is down.” Nodding curtly, suddenly grim and sobered, Tzajal dismisses the Apprentice who likely returns to the stall to wait. “You’ll have to excuse me… Sudden emergency.” Such is life! Yet before he goes, he’ll offer his name at least! “I’m Tzajal, by the way. Enjoy your morning, Journeyman!” And then he’s away at a hurried stride to go about his duties.

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